Brown Sugar
by Cry4theDevil
Summary: Lestrade is de-aged by a curse, Mycroft has to take care of him.
1. Chapter 1

**a/n: My first de-aging fic. Just wanted to try this out. The characterization is horrible, but this is more of a test. It's unbeta'd and not written to my usual standards. Oh well, maybe someone will like this weird thing enough for a second concluding chapter.**

...

Tea is truly wonderful, easing ones pains, simply relaxing. Mycroft has the newspaper set out in front of him, the cafe he sits in his small but crowded and it wasn't his idea. Greg sits across from him, staring at his phone, tapping away until he looks up and Mycroft can't help but sneer as the detective catches him staring.

"Coffee," Mycroft comments as a waitress sets down a cup. "How American."

Greg shrugs, takes a sip and resumes tapping away at his phone. Mycroft averts his attention back to the paper, nothing interesting today. Fabricated stories, front page headline of Sherlock, he's wearing a deerstalker which looks extremely silly on him. He almost scoffs at the photo. Even in a picture he can read his brother like a book, clearly unhappy, faking the smile. John seems genuinely happy. Mycroft doesn't know why, nor does he care.

Folding the paper up he sets it down and brings his tea to his lips.

He almost drops the cup containing the hot liquid when he glances across the table. Greg is gone, a small boy sits in the chair, a very familiar cellphone in his hands.

"What the bloody hell?"

The boy smiles and giggles, two big eyes staring at Mycroft.

"Mmmcroft!" He chirps and Mycroft's jaw almost drops because really there is no explanation for this. He looks around the cafe, nobody seems to have noticed, nobody seems to care. There's a thick worry residing in his stomach, souring the tea, but he doesn't let it sway him as he stands. The boy, perhaps four years old, watches him with a curious expression. Truthfully, Mycroft doesn't know what to do, well, because this isn't anything he's ever heard of. The little boy couldn't be Greg, could it? Swimming in oversized clothes and cradling the cellphone to his chest the boy does look like Greg. The boy-_Greg_-starts shuffling around and Mycroft only sees the gun, that Greg had secured in it's holster, on the chair in time to snatch it away.

Greg flinches, surprised by Mycroft's speed and in doing so drops the phone on the floor.

It clatters loudly before stopping underneath the table and instantaneously the child starts to cry, hiccuping sobs that for some reason tear at Mycroft's chest.

"Phone!" Greg cries, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. Now people are looking and Mycroft bends down and scoops up the phone, quickly handing it back to the boy and gathering up the small form into his arms. Greg holds the phone to his chest, sniffling into Mycroft's shoulder as he's carried out of the cafe. Mycroft is relieved when he sees his escort card sitting at the ready. He hurries inside, carefully depositing Greg down on the seat beside him. The boy presses against him, still sniffling, as Mycroft dials a number on his phone.

"Yes?" Comes an irritated voice on the other end.

"Sherlock," Mycroft says evenly and he hears a sigh on the other end, and the house pet in the background asking who it is.

"What do you want?"

He doesn't know how to explain so he merely says: "Lestrade is a child."

Sherlock snorts.

"Of course he is!"

"No, he is literally a child, approximately four years old," Mycroft says glancing at Greg who appears to be drifting off, his eyelids slowly closing despite his struggles to stay awake, his cell phone still tucked against his chest.

"If this is your idea of a practical joke, Mycroft, you are doing it wrong." Sherlock replies, his voice emotionless.

"I assure you this is no joke," he insists and he feels something curl into his pant leg. He looks down and sees small fingers buried in the fabric.

"You're saying Lestrade, _Detective Lestrade_, has turned into a four year old?" Mycroft can hear the amusement in Sherlock's voice, John is laughing in the background.

"Yes!"

"I think you're delusional." Sherlock says bluntly, Mycroft sighs dramatically.

"Forget I called." He grinds out and ignoring the laughter on the other end, ends the call.

"Home, please." He instructs his employee in the driver seat and the man nods. The drive is uneventful, Greg is sleeping, curled against him. It's strange but Mycroft supposes he will deal with this himself, and besides, Greg is kind of cute like this.

When they arrive he cradles the sleepy detective to his chest, wrapping the extra long clothes around the small body housed beneath it all. He enters his downtown condo quietly, choosing this place to stay tonight because it's cozy, definitely not the mansion, but far more suitable since he does have a child with him. Slipping his shoes off he isn't surprised to find baby clothes and a note sitting on the kitchen table. He mentally notes that he needs to thank Anthea for her inhuman powers of just knowing.

He selects pyjama's and head upstairs to the bedroom. When he sets Greg down on the bed the boy whines and although he doesn't put down the cellphone he reaches up.

"Mmmcroft," he slurs in child talk, "up?"

Mycroft stares down at him. He can't believe what he's seeing, and hearing. Greg is asking to be picked up. He fumbles for words before nodding.

"Just a second, Greg," he says because this feels awkward but then again it doesn't. Something is clicking in him because somehow he's managed to dress Greg's tiny form in baby blue pyjamas without causing the child to cry.

When he's finished he carefully picks Greg up, cradling him to his chest. Greg latches onto him and Mycroft nearly chokes when Greg's face presses to his neck.

"Why are you doing this?" Mycroft asks nobody in particular. "What's happened."

Greg makes a little noise of confusion but quickly forgets the questions because the phone is his hand vibrates.

He giggles.

"Phone!" He exclaims excitedly and for the first time offers the phone to Mycroft. He takes it from a tiny hand. Sliding it open he reads the text.

_Mycroft said you were a four year old. I don't know what's gotten into him. -SH_

He pointedly ignored the text and promptly returned the phone to Greg who cooed his happiness.

"How about some rest?" Mycroft asked, Greg babbled his agreement and Mycroft set about laying Greg down in the middle of the bed and piling pillows up around him. When he was done he draped a thin sheet over the boy and turned to leave the room when Greg started crying.

"Mmcroft!" He sobbed, "Mmcroft! No go!"

Mycroft could've easily left Greg to cry himself to sleep but something in that small voice begging him not to go made him stop in his tracks. Frankly, he had always thought children to be irrupting, but he found it hard to be annoyed at the boy staring at him with big teary eyes. He sighed.

"What is it?" He asked.

Greg fidgeted. "No dark," he said, "so dark, Mmcroft stay."

Well. That was that, he supposed. Glancing at his phone he set it down and changed into something more comfortable before lying down beside Greg. The baby shuffled over to him and before he knew it the boy was cuddled to his chest, sighing contently. This was odd, he'd never slept with a baby, let alone anyone really. It felt awkward but to Greg nuzzled against him, well, he seemed content and happy. Mycroft almost allowed himself to go to sleep right then and there before mentally smacking himself. He was cuddling a baby, a baby who was Gregory Lestrade, not just any child. How it had happened was still unknown. Grabbing his phone he typed away at it and through his research on the subject there was an article, from some nobody, on de-aging curses. He read it in a matter of minutes and set his phone down. It seemed impossible. But then, how had this happened.

From what he had read there were Slovakian curses handed down generation to generation, changing people into children as a punishment. He couldn't help but snort. It was ridiculous, but when he thought on it harder he realized the last person Greg had arrested had been a Slovakian man charged with drug trafficking, he had screamed some mindless gibberish at Greg before being hauled away in a police car. It was the only explanation.

The detective in his arms was cursed. Thankfully, it was apparently reversible and non-permanent. Other accounts of these mysterious curses said those who were cursed turned back within a matter of days. Mycroft surely hoped Greg would change back because he didn't know what to do if he didn't.

The baby sighed against him and for a second Mycroft wondered if it'd be that bad if Greg stayed like this. He was undeniably cute... but this wasn't his Greg.

Morning came too soon and so did the realization that Greg still wasn't back to normal. The baby in his arms shifted and Mycroft stared down at two large eyes staring up at him.

"Up!" Greg chirped. Mycroft sighed as he got up, picking up the boy in the process. He carried him down to the kitchen where he put him on a chair and went through the cupboards to find something for him to eat. He found another note.

_Oatmeal on the stove._

Mycroft blinked, surprised that he had missed the oatmeal pre-warmed on the stove. This whole baby thing was really getting to him. Dishing out a small bowl of oatmeal he placed it in front of Greg, sprinkling a bit of brown sugar on top and offering him a spoon.

"You're hungry?" He asked and Greg nodded, his fingers curling around the spoon. He watched as the boy awkwardly tried to eat the oatmeal before taking the spoon from him. Scooping up small amounts he fed it to Greg. When he was finished he looked at his phone, there were no texts, no alerts for appointments, no nothing. Either he really had nothing scheduled for the day or Anthea had taken care of it already. Looking up from his phone he found Greg tapping away at his phone, a huge smile on his face. He giggled even though he was typing gibberish on the touch screen. Mycroft couldn't help but smile.

"What should we do today?" He asked and Greg looked at him. "How about the park? Or a visit to Sherlock and John's?"

Greg seemed to think hard before he chirped: "Sherock! Sherock!"

With a swipe of the thumb on his phone he's summoned his car. Setting the phone down on the counter he fetches the other pair of clothes Anthea left on the table and promptly dresses Greg for the trip. He's glad Greg doesn't make a fuss. He picks up Greg and cradling the young inspector detective heads for the door, he doesn't forget to grab Greg's cellphone off the kitchen table and return it to Greg's open arms.

Mycroft shuts the door behind him and as he climbs into the car with Greg secured in his arms he one handed texts Sherlock.

_Coming for a visit. I warned you. -MH_

Then the car is departing the condo and on it's way to the flat.


	2. Chapter 2

He's not surprised at their reactions when he arrives. Mrs. Hudson is there and she thinks the whole situation is 'just darling', Sherlock won't shut up about the science behind it all and John is speechless though holding Greg in his arms. Mycroft sighs into his cup of tea, rolling his eyes as Sherlock gestures madly.

"I thought you were joking!" He says, Mycroft shrugs. The words 'I told you so' itching to be said, but he holds them back.

"T-this is unheard of," John mumbles, Greg shrieks in his arms, he bounces the child a few times, earning squealing giggles. "Isn't it?"

"Apparently not." Mycroft replies evenly, setting his tea down. He gives a pointed look at Greg before unfolding the newspaper.

"But how?" John asks and Mycroft wishes he'd do what every other human being on the planet does these days with a question: google it.

"Slovakian curse," he says, skimming through the articles. "I thought it was ridiculous at first myself." He sets the paper down, leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. "The Detective Inspector did just put away a Slovakian man for drug trafficking, did he not?"

"Yes," John replies. Mycroft notices Sherlock has gone quiet, sitting on the couch, fingers pressed together, his eyes fixed on Greg.

"Well," Mycroft says simply, "there's your man."

John seems uneasy, as they all should be. Somehow Mycroft has managed to wrap the idea around his head and that's helping him not go insane from how odd and improbable the whole situation is.

"He won't stay like this forever," John murmurs and looks at Mycroft, "will he?"

He shakes his head. "Preferably not," Mycroft says with just a little distaste poisoning his words. He's not a baby sitter, or a father, or anything to do with children. Government and children don't go together. But maybe those natural instincts are kicking in because Greg has nuzzled into John's jumper and he feels a tinge of _jealousy_.

Mycroft stands and instantly Greg's head whips around. A large smile breaking out over his face, he reaches out.

"Park now?" He asks insistently and John has to adjust his arms so that Greg doesn't fall. Sherlock is still silently watching them but Mycroft doesn't really care right now. In a few strides he's taking Greg from John, putting on a poker face as those impossibly small hands bury themselves into his attire. He clears his throat and as Sherlock stands up he heads for the stairs.

"Going to the park?" Sherlock almost scoffs and Mycroft glares at him, what he sees in Sherlock's face isn't what he expected. A sort of strange longing, jealousy maybe, but when John steps to his side it all melts away. Mycroft can't help but snort.

"Maybe you two should adopt." He says and leaves John confused and Sherlock glowering at his back as he steps outside.

As usual the car is waiting and he enters without a second thought.

"Any park near by," he instructs and the car eases away from 221B.

The park is full, absolutely packed with mothers and their children. Mycroft feels extremely out of place but Greg is squealing and squirming in his arms and that little happy face is apparently all he needs to get out of the car and step out of his comfort zone. The slide looks exciting, even though Greg is pointing at the swings, which are full. He smiles and tries to ignore the lady's staring at him. There area few husbands and boyfriends lingering around but they are at the outskirts of the premises, gathered in groups, talking with each other. Pushing his discomfort away, because literally all the mothers are ogling him, he brings Greg to the slide and sets him at the top.

"How's this?" He asks and Greg's eyes are huge as he stares down the rather short length of the slide. Mycroft lets him go and Greg _screams_ as he practically flies down it. It's over long before Mycroft realizes Greg is probably too small and too young for the slide and now he's crying, shrill voice lifting over the laughing, playing kids. Mycroft gathers Greg up out of the landing sand below and cradles him close to his chest, bouncing him gently.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, trying to calm Greg. "I'm sorry, don't cry, don't cry baby, _shhh_."

As if the women at the park weren't already staring at him before, now they were murmuring to each other. _What a horrible father he is. He can't do anything right. Doesn't he know that boy is too young for the slide? Where's the mother?_

He wanted to scowl but didn't, instead he concentrated on getting back to the safety of his waiting car. Entering it and shutting the door he continued to bounce Greg, trying to stop the large tears rolling down his face. After he had instructed the driver to head 'home' he pulled out his phone and quickly typed out a short text. The phone in Greg's hands suddenly vibrated and his crying abruptly stopped. Mycroft watched with baited breath as Greg tapped at the phones touch screen. There was no way that he knew what he was doing but it didn't stop the child from giggling once then twice as the phone made beeping noises when he mashed his fingers against it.

"Careful," Mycroft cautioned, knowing well that Greg always took very good care of his things and a few scratches, even from himself, could disappoint the man. Then again, that didn't seem to really matter now because Mycroft didn't know when Greg would change back to his regular self, he didn't know how long he'd have to take care of the child.

The condo was just as he had left it, except there was another note that informed him food had been made and was ready to eat. When he glanced at the time he almost gasped. Some how he had wasted away his whole day parading around with Greg. Sighing at his lost time he set the boy down on a chair and asked him: "Are you hungry?"

"Hungry!" Greg mimicked but it was good enough for Mycroft. He fed Greg, ate something himself then retired to his room with the boy in his arms.

He was becoming increasingly good at this, taking care of Greg, feeding him, dressing him, the works. It was almost disturbing how well he had adapted in such little time to the bizarre change. Pushing his thoughts away he settled down on the bed, laying Greg down beside him. Greg cuddled close to him and Mycroft nearly stopped himself from wrapping an arm around the small form.

"You were so small," he murmured to the dark, Greg yawned. "So small, Sherlock wasn't even this small."

Greg snaps to attention because he _knows_ that name, he giggles.

"Sherock," he says.

"Yes, Sherlock," Mycroft says and once again he feels hands gripping at his night clothing. "He was bigger than you but you are far more adorable."

It's something he'd never admit, but it's true. Greg is freakishly cute at this age, so attached to the cellphone, same looks on his face, a tad more cheerful but still adorable. Mycroft feels bad because of the slide incident, but Greg doesn't seem to remember it now. Bless is too-young mind. The phone buzzes between them but Mycroft doesn't move. He's too tired to care, besides it's Greg's phone. Closing his eyes Mycroft doesn't feel himself slip into a deep sleep but he does.

The night drags on and he's warm, a little too warm, he can still feel the phone pressed between him and Greg but there's something_ different_. As he pulls himself from sleep he almost shouts in shock. Replacing small hands are much larger ones, buried in his nightshirt and a rather heavy leg is draped over his own legs. Greg's face is in the crook of his neck and Mycroft can see that regular greying-brown hair that tells him it is definitely Greg nuzzled to him. The baby clothes, Mycroft assumes are ripped to shreds from Greg's transformation, but it doesn't matter. The sheets separate them.

He sighs into Greg's hair and isn't surprised when two familiar eyes open to look at him.

"Don't _ever_ do that again." Greg says out of the blue, he tightens his hold on Mycroft. "I've always hated slides, you idiot."

Mycroft smiles.

_end._

**a/n: Wow! I received loads of story alerts, favourites and even a few author alerts. I didn't receive any feedback though. Which is fine but reviews always feed the writer! Anyway. Well. I don't know what I just wrote. This whole thing is just... I can't even describe it. Anyway, thanks for reading guys!**


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